


19mm kamera

by Jelevy (YogurtTime), thunderylee



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Facial, M/M, Pearl Necklace, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, potential delusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2019-01-28 12:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12606224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/Jelevy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Suga-san, the voyeur with the sixth sense of a photographer, knew what Kame’s camera wanted and Kame had trusted him to submit.





	19mm kamera

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

The rapid click of the shutter, to some, would be annoying, but it just makes him harder.

Flash. Click.

Kame squirms on the soft fur rug, fingers tugging on his cock poking out of his pants while his other hand drapes over his face dramatically. It feels like someone else is touching him, because someone else is watching him touch himself through the viewfinder of the camera that Kame reacts so well to. The reflective glass and bright flash brings out his beauty and sex appeal, even within his own body as he catches glimpses of his self-exploration in the mirrored ceiling.

Flash. Click.

His moans are unnecessary, incapable of being recorded in a still picture, but he does it anyway. Because it feels good, because it makes his photographer feel good. Unaffected, Suga-san continues to hold the camera steady, bending down to move closer and snap louder.

Flash. Click.

And Suga-san himself is masked by his dark glass lens that expands, zooms, and flutters at Kame like hard black hypnotising bird wings. Kame’s eyes flicker at him, gaze cloying at the lens for a brief hot second — teasing his tongue out from his wet pink mouth, lancing it over his lower lip. Suga-san’s camera flashes closer to where Kame’s eyes lock on him once more before they slide shut, a throaty gasp melding with the clicks of the shutter.

Magnetically, Kame responds to the flash by squeezing his palm along the head of his cock, arching his spine so that Suga-san pulls the camera back, taking in his bare, flexing stomach.

Flash. Click.

Kame’s shut-eyed smirk as his finger slips into his own mouth, sucking as his other hand dances up and down his length, knees coming up.

Flash. Click.

Trailing a wet finger down his chest in a true to form exhibition, painting a wet glimmer coming down between his soft pectorals, mouth falling open in sporadic moans, words half-formed, breathless.

Flash and Flicker.

Kame’s opens his palm and cradles his cock just in the space between his middle finger and his ring finger, pausing as his eye opens a slit to make sure Suga-san gets this shot. He drags his knuckles upward and cries out a stilted, “Ah!”

No click.

The fur rug shifts as Suga-san falls to his knees, still looking at Kame through the camera without fingering the capture button. Even more pleased with being admired directly, Kame hears the whir of the zoom as he shudders under the attention. He’s close, lip-bitingly close, ready to finish but not if it won’t be documented; it is of course why they’re here, why he’s doing this, and unless they want to do it all over again, he’s only got one shot.

Then the camera is placed gently on the ground and Kame’s eyes fly open, meets Suga-san’s without any buffers as Suga-san’s fingers curve into the open belt of his pants, dragging them downward in a swift, skillful motion. Kame squirms and moans when Suga-san bats Kame’s hand away from himself, straddling his lap and looking down at him like a wild animal would eye its prey. It makes Kame’s blood run even hotter, struggling at being denied his release and moaning out loud when Suga-san pins his arms to the floor.

Kame licks his lips, chest heaving with breath, and lifts his hips to pointedly graze the large bulge in Suga-san’s jeans with his bare cock. He leaves a dark spot of precome and it serves him right, the tease, luring him here just to fuck him, getting him all aroused by the snapshots just to take it away at the last second.

But when Suga-san leans down to taste his lips, coaxing Kame’s tongue out with his own, a timed click unleashes the performer within him and he returns to putting on his show, now with a costar, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning Suga-san’s shirt and slipping it down his shoulders. Suga-san straightens, taut stomach stretching back as he shakes the sleeves of his shirt down while Kame, running a finger down the neat dusting of hair trailing downward, gets to work on his jeans, raising his gaze to lock with Suga-san, dark hot stares punctuated by the canter of Kame’s hips almost rhythmic with timed clicks and flashes of the camera beside him.

Once Suga-san’s jeans are down, Kame makes a gratuitous arch of his neck just knowing the curve will look wanting, needy, and _so_ desperate under this type of light exposure. Suga-san groans, deep and smoky, his approval as he reaches up to trace his thumbs against the skin of Kame’s thighs and Kame writhes under the touch while Suga-san manoeuvres out of his jeans, soon perfectly bare above him. But Suga-san pauses, hard cock coming down to press on the inside of Kame’s thigh as he descends. Kame hisses in a wanton breath, biting his lip, but his narrow brown eyes remain fixed greedily on the picture Suga-san makes above him.

Suga-san’s meets his gaze, hand previously rubbing circles on the skin near Kame’s ass, drags up to his throat, fingertips applying pressure on Kame’s jaw.

“Not me, Kame-chan,” he breathes.

It’s abrupt and a little forceful, but he turns Kame’s head, pressing his cheek to the fur rug. Now eye to eye with the camera lens, Kame’s sinking sighs become more audible as Suga-san sets to work around Kame’s aching cock, lifting Kame’s legs to rest over his own naked thighs. Kame arches his back to complete the perfect picture of debauchery, his lithe form spilling from Suga-san’s lap while his arms stretch out to grasp at the edge of the rug.

A poke between his legs makes it real, his fingers tightening on the fur lining and his thighs spreading in search of the intimate touch. His faint groan is real, along with the involuntary tremble of his lower body as Suga-san corkscrews two slick, twisted digits inside him. Not daring to tear his eyes away from the camera, Kame can no longer look up at the mirror to see himself like this, can’t watch Suga-san’s fingers disappearing into his body or see what kind of expression is on his face, and the realization thrills him even more. He can only _feel_ now, like how he feels Suga-san’s cock resting against his inner thigh, unmoving but a firm reminder of what’s to come. A threat and a promise, both of which Kame anticipates with every nerve that singes in agreement.

It becomes easier for those fingers to push in and out, delving deeper each time, and a tribulant moan escapes from so far within Kame’s lungs that it surprises him. Ever the professional, he makes it work, giving the camera his best hooded bedroom eyes that he doesn’t have to try and put on because it’s _real_. His body pushes back against Suga-san’s touch and he feels it inside him, opening him up like he’s opening the curtains on the final act.

Suga-san doesn’t rush, patient and thorough as he undoubtedly gets in a few more shots of Kame writhing before him. Ever the photographer, he goes above and beyond to manually pose the model and make him comfortable. Kame has done a lot of shoots in his life, but he trusts his body in Suga-san’s hands more so than any other. Suga-san will make him look _beautiful_.

And Kame _feels_ gorgeous under this much attention. One of Suga-san’s hands snakes so hungrily, deeply to curve at his hips, tugging him in, closer and tight against his own. He lays Kame’s shoulders back, pliant and ready on the rug, and Kame continues to stare at the camera lens flashing at him, telling the unseen audience with a steady, hot, breathing stare just how willing he is, how he is meant to be divided and ploughed into mercilessly, a vessel made for this aching stretch, a gasping and desperate enshrinement. And _that_ is beautiful.

Suga-san seems to know, teasing the head of his cock against Kame’s edge, his rim. Smoky moans seep through the room under the click of the shutter lens, and Suga-san eases in, palm flat on Kame’s chest, holding him down as he slides, so steadily…carefully, the muscles of his thighs flex under Kame’s soon scrabbling fingers. He groans again, higher, trying to keep his eyes open as the sensation of Suga-san opening him with just sheer hard muscle makes his stare glaze and he slides his hands up to grasp at the rug again, knuckles swim white as the first thrust tightens his whole frame. His legs fall open just as Suga-san hankers his hips upward once more making Kame swallow him whole, deeper and deafening.

Kame wonders what kind of picture this makes, his body stretched across the rug like this while wrapped around his photographer like this. He hopes he remembers it with each glossy picture that develops from this tryst, how he felt to have Suga-san thrusting sharply into him. He wonders if Suga-san can feel him tense with each click of the camera.

His noises are uncontrolled, unprecedented, unrehearsed, not for the adoring public but for Suga-san, whose grunts he hears mixed in. What a contrast they make, Suga-san a stone statue compared to the bouncing man before him, constantly moving with the force of their efforts and his own contained tension. More than anything Kame wants to straighten his neck, lay back all the way and splay his hair out on the floor; too bad the camera isn’t in the mirrored ceiling to capture him from that angle.

Suga-san has the timing memorized, pausing at just the right second, and by the time Kame’s brain catches up, he’s being moved again. It’s a never ending series of poses, articulate and artistic in their raw and perfect carnality, and he can almost feel the sweat on his skin shine in the flash light. His own cock rests heavily against his abdomen, hard and thick and acquiring the tiniest bit of friction with each of Suga-san’s toe-curling slams and soon Kame is undulating, left calf hooked over Suga-san’s shoulder emphasizing the curve of his thighs meeting his hips and the moist creamy skin of his chest.

And Kame, eyes no more than glimmering slits that gaze at the lens, knows that this will be exquisite.

He can feel from the shudders and the quickening of Suga-san’s gasps and grunts that he’s close, slamming the last of his tether into Kame, thigh muscles working. As the friction heats him, Kame’s moans go deeper, longer, quaking from somewhere deep inside his burning core. However it’s that moment they want, the searing cry that may rip out of Kame, some properly angled shots of the progression of a euphoric convulsion. Kame knows this is what _he_ wants anyway, documented in still-life, black and whites, colours and edges smudged to pore over afterward. So even as he gasps, bucking, making these desperate wanton noises with the milky thrill of being filled over and again, he holds out.

Once again Suga-san pauses with admirable resolve, shaking arm crooked around Kame’s leg over his shoulder. He stretches and gets ahold of the camera by its strap, angling it in his right palm over Kame, lips parted and chest heaving. Kame’s eyes follow the lens, drawn to the still flickering shutter. The flashes are now beams as his head swims, his whole body numb and shaking with the need for release.

“Kame-chan…” he whispers, the instruction clear as he focuses the lens low, a lover’s angle.

 _Oh that’s perfect_ , Kame thinks.

Nodding, Kame arches his neck back, displaying the thrilling vulnerability of his throat as his hand trails down. He can feel it already, in the way that the camera clicks and as Suga-san resumes his thrusts into Kame, whose hand curls once more over his own cock. He curls his fingers around the tip and makes a sinuous slide downward before he raises his head again. He then fixes an almost threateningly hungry gaze on the camera in Suga-san’s hand. He is being practically rammed into the fur rug so Kame can almost feel the hard floor beneath, but he curves his elbow behind him and sits up a little, other hand now pumping vigorously.

He makes several aching cries at the sensation, the mixture of the persistent shutter, patterned with Suga-san’s punctuated and vehemently earthy shifts inside him and his own fist sliding up and down. A three-way metronomic rhythm of the perfectly delicious and Kame’s cries double when he glances a little helplessly at Suga-san, feeling the hot curl of his climax run down his stomach and up his thighs. He’s there and his fist contracts as he reaches the head of his cock once more.

His reflection stares back at him from the ceiling, echoed in the camera lens and this is it, the money shot — Kame flips his hair with practiced ease until it frames his head like a wavy halo, letting his features relax and twisting his hand up and down the head of his cock as fast as he can. He feels it coming and lets go, the resounding click mixed with a moan that gets caught in his throat, joined on the outside by a stray drop of his release. The rest of it streaks his chest, which heaves even heavier as his body is rocked by the eruption of orgasm, as well as Suga-san’s continuing movements inside him that become more disjointed with each passing second.

Kame’s fingers find their way to the beads of come at his navel, dipping in the substance and bringing it to his lips for a taste. The camera, miraculously steady in Suga-san’s questionable hold, captures this too, and Kame uses a little more tongue for whoever’s watching, including Suga-san. Leftover moans vibrate his skin as he laps between his fingers and feels his face flushed with satisfaction, offering a smirk in spite of it all.

Somehow in the end, it’s not for just that unseen audience. Kame is quick to spot the way it affects the man shuddering into him. Suga-san, fingers curled into the niches of the camera, moans a bit reverently as he stares hotly at this image below him, awed while his hips continue to roll into Kame in these thick swimming motions as his whole body contracts. Kame, thrilled and still glowing from his orgasm, is more at leisure to play it up as he slides his arms above his head in a decidedly vulnerable pose, and he hikes his hips upward, riding into each of Suga-san’s moaning thrusts, soliciting hotter reactions with the slide of his thighs. The camera is still caught in Suga-san’s fingers, but Kame bites his lips and lowers his eyelids, making a sound that’s like an inviting croon, encouraging Suga-san without words.

Kame half expects Suga-san to drop the camera when his eyes shut like that, whole body beginning to quake with each new thrust. Surprisingly, though, he only groans a bit rakishly, a tail end of a growl rumbling from him as he pulls out and raises one knee. Kame is let go as Suga-san’s hand moves from Kame’s upraised leg to his own cock. Puzzled, Kame sits up on his elbows, but Suga-san holds the camera forward, the flash still going as his other hand fists his cock.

It’s all in blinding seconds as Suga-san groans deeply, the head of his cock shining and it’s the last thing Kame sees when he instinctively shuts his eyes. The camera flashes orange behind his eyelids before he turns his head away, making its capture, and he feels a warm string of liquid touch at his collarbones followed by more splatter at the side of his throat. Mere seconds and the click of the camera slows. Kame opens his eyes to see Suga-san, still breathing heavily, but stepping around him, taking slower shots, from his right and Kame looks down at himself, splattered with come from his throat to his stomach, glimmering in the pale glow of the room and catching pearly light with the insistent flash of the camera.

Then just silent seconds as the shutter vanishes and the flash ceases. Kame still gazes down at himself, caught in a moment of odd epiphany. Camera left at an angle on the corner of the rug, Suga-san moves nearby, pulling his clothes on, but Kame’s head drops back to the floor, gazing at his bare body in the mirror above.

And then he’s left alone.

Lying in the leftover glow of his exhaustion and release, Kame feels like the brightest shining star as he pays no attention to his photographer’s departure. He slides his fingers up his own neck — still glimmering under artificial light — into the gift Suga-san left him, completing the journey to his lips and combining their tastes. He’s in no rush to leave; he can stay here as long as he likes. It’s his studio. It’s his camera.

Flash. Click.

Kame looks down at his one love, the hard brown glass of the lens wrapped in black rough plastic, cut with niches and angles. In its silence and rhythm, it is faithful, his most loyal supporter. He traces the buttons, and softer rubber parts and knows it’ll never stray; it’ll bring him memory, perspective, bring him the visions he can never see when he’s laid bare the way he was with Suga-san. He’d develop the pictures later; he’ll recall this photoshoot, remember finger pads of pressure and want, his own performance breath by breath. It was why he chose Suga-san to do this for him. Suga-san, the voyeur with the sixth sense of a photographer, knew what Kame’s camera wanted and Kame had trusted him to submit.

The timer shuts off, the device suddenly silent, and Kame feels the darkness come once again.


End file.
